Monster in the Moonlight

I was showing a customer a necklace with two opposing silver dragon heads that came together in a heart shape over a red amethyst teardrop when the cops arrived. My dog, Newt, sat beside me and got my attention by whining and wagging his tail, creating miniature fur balls that rolled across the floor like tiny tumbleweeds. He raised his nose and started sniffing madly, compensating for his near blindness. I turned to see why he was so excited, at first noticing only dust motes dancing in the beams of late-afternoon sunshine streaming through my front windows. I made a mental note to have Rita and Devon do some serious spring cleaning.

Then I saw the two people who had arrived and understood Newt's excitement. My reaction was equally enthusiastic, and if I'd had a tail, I probably would have been wagging it, too.

He's here.

I glanced over at the checkout counter, where Rita had just finished processing a payment for someone, and saw her arch her eyebrows with interest. I gave her a look to summon her over and she nodded, the loose, wispy white hairs in her ever-present sloppy bun creating an undulating halo around her head.

Jon Flanders, or Flatfoot Flanders as Rita had taken to calling him, stopped a few feet away and gave me a tentative smile. He looked good, his blond hair cut short on the sides, but a longer lock in front hung boyishly over his forehead. His blue eyes twinkled, making me think he was happy to see me. Or was that simply wishful thinking on my part?

Jon was here! My heart felt like it might burst, and the reaction surprised me a little. I knew I'd missed him of late but perhaps I hadn't realized how much.

The man with Jon, who I guessed was also a cop based on his military haircut and ramrod posture, was dressed in jeans, a white shirt, and a suit jacket. My excitement at seeing Jon was somewhat tempered by this second man's presence because this wasn't at all how I'd imagined our eventual reunion in the gazillion scenarios I'd run through my mind over the past few months. It was supposed to be a private, romantic setting, an opening-or rather a reopening-of the lines of communication between our minds and our hearts, not a ménage à trois.

"Oh, my niece just loves that necklace!" Rita cooed, moving in and smoothly taking over with the customer. The rhinestones on the lanyard attached to her eyeglasses caught some of the sunbeams and reflected little dots of light around the room like a disco ball. Her enthusiasm was all for show. Rita didn't have a niece. I excused myself and walked over to the newly arrived duo.

"It's good to see you," I said to Jon, mildly irritated by the tentativeness I heard in my voice. Newt had no such reservations. He was all over Jon, wagging his tail furiously, nosing one of Jon's hands, and whining with excitement.

Jon returned my greeting with a brief nod and then did the introductions. "Wyatt Moorhead, this is Morgan Carter. Morgan, this is Wyatt Moorhead. He's a detective down in Elkhorn."

"Nice to meet you, Detective Moorhead."

"Please, call me Wyatt."

Jon said, "Can we go upstairs and talk?"

Okay, apparently this visit was all business. And when Jon mentioned where Wyatt was from, it gave me an inkling of what the business might be about.

"Sure," I said.

I stepped past the two men and led them up the stairs to my apartment on the second floor, with Newt following. The late-afternoon sun was putting on a stunning display here as well, thanks to a wall of westward-facing glass. Unfortunately, it also highlighted all the dog hair and dust that had settled on my glass-topped coffee table, granite countertops, and wood floors. And then there were the dried drool spots courtesy of Newt. I had dusted, vacuumed, and mopped it all just yesterday morning but it was a never-ending battle. I loved my dog, but he was kind of a slob.

I directed the men to the living portion of the open-concept space and headed for the kitchen.

"I could use a coffee," I said over my shoulder. "Can I get you guys something? I have water, coffee, tea, some pink lemonade, and if you're so inclined, some nice IPAs."

"I wouldn't mind some water," Wyatt said.

I glanced over at Jon expectantly. "Same," he said without looking at me.

"Jon tells me the mummified body seated by your front door is real," Wyatt said as I started a single cup of coffee in my Keurig machine.

"Yep, that's Henry," I explained. I got each of the men a bottle of water from the fridge and carried them into the living room. "Henry was part of the Alaskan gold rush, but he fell into an ice crevasse and was frozen for many years. Some Inuit found him. Then Native Americans had him, and eventually my father bought him. The ice started the mummification process and I'm not sure if something or someone else finished it. All I know is, he's been a mascot here at Odds and Ends practically since the store opened. And he saved my life once."

Wyatt's eyebrows shot up, but I chose not to clarify further. My mind was too busy thinking about other things.

My coffee was ready, and I grabbed it and settled into a chair across from the men, somewhat amused they had chosen to sit side by side on the couch. Newt flopped down on the floor at my feet, ready for one of his many daily naps. I took a sip of my coffee, using the activity to study Wyatt over the top of my mug. He was an attractive man, tall and well-built with broad shoulders. His eyes were a brown so dark, they looked black, and he had a hair color to match. A hint of a five-o'clock shadow graced his cheeks. I pegged his age as somewhere in his early forties.

"So, what's up?" I was trying to sound casual even though my heart was pounding so hard, I could see a small pulsating light in one corner of my vision. Before anyone could answer, I quickly added, "Wait. Let me guess. This has something to do with the Beast of Bray Road."

Wyatt's eyebrows shot up again and I couldn't resist a smile.

"It does," he said. Then his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Did you hear something about it?"

"You mean, something new?"

Stories about the Beast of Bray Road were legendary in parts of Wisconsin. There had even been a low-budget horror movie made about it-a slasher flick I recalled viewing with my parents several years ago, which, in hindsight, had been a bad idea.

"There's been a possible attack," Wyatt said. "It happened three nights ago, and a couple of nights before, a witness saw a strange creature eating an animal he thought looked like a dog. And a farmer who lives nearby is missing one."

"I don't watch the news much," I admitted. "But I didn't think you'd seek me out for my knowledge of police investigative techniques, so when Jon mentioned you were from Elkhorn, I kind of guessed what it was about. There have been sightings and incidents involving the beast in other locations, but Elkhorn is famous for it . . . or was a few decades ago. Maybe 'infamous' would be the better word."

Wyatt nodded, looking solemn. "I've heard about your other recent cases. Word gets around in the law enforcement community, and I knew Jon here had worked with you on those, so I asked him for an introduction."

I glanced over at Jon, who was studying the writing on his water bottle label like it was evidence at a crime scene. It occurred to me then that he wasn't here because he'd wanted to see me or because he'd missed me. He was here because of a professional obligation. The realization hit hard. Seeing him had triggered emotions in me I hadn't expected-longing, joy, an aching need I didn't fully understand. Had seeing me done anything for him? I wondered. Was his apparent reluctance to look at me a good sign or a bad one?

"You want me to investigate this possible attack as a cryptozoologist?" I asked Wyatt.

"I do." He sounded tentative and his smile morphed into a wince. "But it's a bit of a delicate situation because my boss thinks what you do is . . . um . . . well, to put it bluntly, some kind of hocus-pocus. No offense."

I shrugged. "None taken. I've heard worse."

This wasn't unexpected, though I had to wonder why the police were involved at all. The field of cryptozoology was filled with charlatans and fakers whose only interest was in bilking gullible people out of their money. I was one of the few in the field who took the work seriously and had no goal other than finding the truth, whether it confirmed the existence of a cryptid or not. Most times, it didn't. And that was okay. While some folks might not care about a cryptozoologist poking around the location of a supposed sighting, law enforcement officials, as a rule, did. And not because they feared wasting money on me because I never charged for what I did.

"I'm not sure why you need me or for that matter why the police are involved. Was the animal the beast supposedly killed the mayor's beloved pet or something?"

"I'm sorry. I haven't been clear," Wyatt said. "There have been two separate incidents. The sighting of the creature eating a smaller animal happened two days before the possible attack. And that attack resulted in the death of a local woman."

His blunt answer set me back on my heels. Despite the creature's frequent comparisons to a werewolf and its reputation for fierceness, stories about the Beast of Bray Road had never involved it killing a human, at least not in real life. In movies, on the other hand. . . .

Before I could respond, Jon stood, ran his palms down his thighs, and said, "You two can continue this discussion on your own. I've made the introductions for you, Wyatt, and if it's okay, I'm going to head back. I don't want to miss the last ferry of the day."

This was a gut punch. I'd been so happy to see Jon after weeks of nothing but text messages and the occasional awkward and all-too-brief phone conversation. I desperately wanted to talk, to feel him out, to sort through the complex issues currently keeping us apart. If he left now, I wouldn't have the chance, but I felt helpless to stop him.

I stared into my coffee cup, eager to hide the hurt and devastation I knew must have been showing on my face. Wyatt stood, and as the two men shook hands and shared their parting words, I fought back tears.

Jon saved me from having to look at him by striding past me and flinging a casual "I'll show myself out" over his shoulder.

I briefly considered begging him to stay, but I was seized by a sort of paralysis that kept me mum. Another time, I told myself. It could wait.

But could it? Should it? The deaths of my parents two and a half years ago had made it painfully apparent to me that time was never guaranteed. I hated this limbo. Rita had suggested I was too stubborn for my own good and I was starting to think she was right. Seeing Jon had made me realize how much I wanted him back in my life on a regular basis, whatever it took.

As I heard the door to my apartment close behind him, I promised myself I would call him as soon as I finished with Wyatt Moorhead. After all, how hard could it be to come up with some sort of compromise?

Did I mention I can be pigheaded at times?

Chapter 2

Wyatt, seemingly oblivious to my emotional state, began a dry, clinical recitation of the events surrounding his case.

"We were called out to Bray Road around three in the afternoon this past Thursday, April twenty-third, for a deceased person in some woods. The body was located a couple hundred yards from the road, give or take, but not far from a narrow, rutted path that runs between parallel groves of thick woods. This path serves as an access road for farm equipment because beyond the wooded sections there are two fields. The farmer who owns one of them saw a bunch of buzzards circling in the area and went to investigate, thinking it might have been the body of his dog that had gone missing. Instead, he found a dead woman, fully clothed, lying on her back a few feet inside woods bordering a cornfield. There were several visible wounds on her body, most notably a large tearing type of injury to the left side of her throat. Her car was parked out on the road along the shoulder and there were some curious scratch marks on it."

"Curious how?"

Wyatt handed me his phone. I stared at a picture of what looked like claw marks-four lines running vertically down the driver's door. I zoomed in and saw shiny metal in the scratches, suggesting they were recent.

"There are others," Wyatt said. He reached over and swiped to the next picture, which showed four similar lines running down the hood of the car, though they appeared more ragged and were interrupted rather than continuous. He swiped again and I was looking at similar scratches across the trunk.

"They look fresh," I said.

"Fresh enough that we found chips of paint on the ground beside the car."

I reverse-scrolled and studied each of the pictures again before handing Wyatt back his phone. "Tell me more about the victim."

"The woman was found on her back, and she had already stiffened with rigor by the time we arrived. The medical examiner said the cause of death was a broken neck high enough to have caused instant paralysis of everything below, including her respiratory muscles."

The horror of such a death washed over me. "Time of death?"

"Estimated to be about twelve hours before we found her, or around three in the morning, give or take an hour."

Interesting.

Wyatt asked, "How much do you know about the Beast of Bray Road?"

I knew a little bit, though I'd not spent as much time on it as I had on other cryptids. My parents had done minimal research on it in the past, and I knew there had been stories about it in the news media off and on over the years. But I also knew there were bound to be legends and rumors I hadn't heard and wouldn't be able to find easily without talking to the locals. Wyatt might be a good source for those, and I decided to let him give me a lesson. Besides, I wanted to figure out what he knew, what he'd heard, and where he fell on the belief spectrum.